


My Kind of Rain

by clumsycopy, crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clumsycopy/pseuds/clumsycopy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop and feel the rain?”
Relationships: Ben Solo & Reader, Ben Solo & You, Ben Solo/Reader, Ben Solo/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	My Kind of Rain

Convincing Ben to fly impromptu to Naboo is the hardest—and the most rewarding—thing you had done in months. You welcome the change of scenery and though he doesn’t talk _much_ , you see the effect it has on him. The way he frowns less when not looking at you, the lilted laugh that escapes his lips more and more, the relaxed sprawl of his shoulder as he meditates each morning.

He still struggles, and who wouldn’t, given all that he had been through?

You hold him on the nights the wind chills you awake, his body no longer shielding you from the cold breeze, leaving a void on the bed, that nothing can fill but _him_.

  
  


You prattle on about the newest deal you closed with the New Trade Federation, rambling about treaties, equations, datasets until you were sure he isn’t following your train of thought, yet all his focus is on you, because if it mattered to you, that’s all the reason he needs. On those days you snatch his attention to yourself, knowing he needs an anchor, something to ground him to the present, save him from the endless spiral of guilt and longing for what he could not change.

You lock your datapads out of reach, to avoid any contact with the New Republic. The protocol droid is so eager to help that, remorse gnaws on your stomach as you shut it off, but you want no distractions. Lake Retreat is a dome of paradise inside a planet that looked like the textbook definition of the land of gods. A massive lake surrounds the villa, swirling waters whispering with life. Lush trees cradle the building with refreshing humidity, sloping upwards until the peaks of green blend into waterfalls that froth into clear, deep blue lakes.

What you love, so so much that you drop whatever you were doing to watch—Ben included—is the rain. The water never falls the same way twice: one day it’s a warm mist that sprays over your skin, on another cold spikes of water bounce off the roof, the tiles, imprinting holes on the soil, soaking you to the bone in minutes.

The drenched clothes, wet hair that stuck to your face, tangling in knots that’d make you spend ages undoing, the slippery steps that tripped you straight into the mud don’t bother you. When the rain hits your skin, when the thunder rumbles, with a grey and black and flashing sky, you feel nothing but gratitude. Gratitude for surviving so many battles, physical or emotional, for supporting your friends, growing stronger from trials that tested your limits. 

Each drop that rolls down your face is a reminder that you can relax. Because _he_ is back and he is _here_.

Ben’s traversed all over the galaxy, spent many a day in places few have had the pleasure to witness, and some that quite a few have, all of which pale in comparison to Lake Retreat. Perhaps in another life he would have found the thunder that claps overhead and the lightning streaking across the sky to illuminate the lake and surrounding flora to be representative of the torment that had held such a terrifying grip on his mind. But now, now he finds it impossible to look back on such difficult times. It’s because of you that he was able to pick himself back up, glue those fragmented pieces of himself together and become the person that you knew he would be, the person that he _is_.

It’s also because of you that he’s tipping his head back, face tilted upwards towards the sky and eyes closed as he waits for the rain to cascade down onto him, soak through his clothes and dampen his hair. In a past life he never would have taken the time to enjoy a moment such as this; it’s something so simple, and yet it’s moments like these he’s spent his whole life missing out on.

Another rumble of thunder cuts through the sky, the boom echoing through the rolling hills, following close behind yet another bolt of lightning that reflects in the waters of the lake. Ben’s head tilts forward again, eyes opening to search for you, finding you not too far away. More often than not he finds himself mesmerized by you, but there is something about seeing you here and now, your expression one of such peace in the throws of the storm, that absolutely _floors_ him.

You’ve done _so much_ for him ever since he’d chosen to step back into the light, and even in moments such as this, moments where you’re saying nothing at all, you’re teaching him how to _live_ again. A bolt of lightning flashes through the sky, lighting up your face, and for a fleeting moment, he finds himself wondering if he should attempt to talk you into retreating into the safety of the villa.

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, he opts to take steps towards you, the mud squelching beneath the soles of his boots with each and every advance. Once he’s close enough, he calls out to you loud enough to carry his voice above the sound of the rumble of thunder overhead. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop and feel the rain?”

You whip your head to his direction. "Why not? Look how pretty the sky is. The rain should start at any minute." 

Mud clings to your shoes, plop plop plop as you walk over to Ben. You scan his face, admiring the length of his nose, his sharp, brown eyes, how _full_ and _pink_ his lips are, even more so as he bites them. Even after all these months he still clads himself in black; black sweaters, black pants, black boots, as if he’s in a permanent state of mourning. 

Thunder booms again, the sound fading until it’s a soft tremble—that’s when the rain starts. The water sizzles, crackles, hammers on the domed roofs, cascading downwards, coiling around the arabesque columns. It pools on the floor, running down the steps, leaking and nurturing the soil.

You nuzzle your head under his arm, his soggy clothes cool against your skin. Water drizzles out of his sopped hair, that looks _so pretty_ , sticking in clumps to his forehead, his cheeks, the side of his jaw. His lip quivers and for a moment you struggle to bite back a laugh at his sour face.

The rain permeates his sweater, weighs it down until it feels like the heaviest armour, and the mud clings to his boots with such desperation that he can feel the suction of it against his soles when he shifts to pull you closer. He should hate this, he thinks; should hate being out here ( _willingly no less_ ) in a torrential downpour, and for a moment that thought transfers to his features, pulling the corners of his mouth downward into a scowl and creasing his brows to add to his visible displeasure.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t hate this, because _you’re_ here, and you’re _so close_ to him. Ben can see the amusement that lights your eyes even in the darkness of the storm, and it serves to dispel any distaste he’d felt for being caught up in the rain. That sour expression that had tainted his face only moments prior now dissipates, his expression evening out into something more neutral just before his lips begin to curl up into the beginnings of a smile.

There’s a rumble that starts deep within his chest, bubbling up until it’s slipping past his lips. A chuckle. It’s a foreign sound to his own ears, one he can’t even recall the last time he’s made, but he’s making it now and it’s all because of you; you and this damned thunderstorm. He lifts his free hand, palm grazing along your cheek whilst he delicately pushes back a small gathering of hair at your temple.

This gentle touch is such a stark contrast to how he used to be. He used to be _ruthless_ , driven by anger, abandonment, and vengeance, but now he’s anything but those things. He couldn’t be further from them thanks to you. Ben watches a drop of rain settle onto your forehead, watches as it slides down between your brows and follows the bridge of your nose before rolling off the side onto your cheek. The pad of his thumb wipes it away in vain, the droplet already replaced by more as the rain continues to shower down onto the two of you.

Ben’s gaze flickers down to your lips and he thinks then about what it might be like to kiss you, wonders what it might be like to feel the soft slant of your lips against his own while he drinks you in and savors you.

He wonders if you’d let him.

Even though you're looking at the sky, watching the raindrops fall, savoring the way they hit your skin, you _feel_ his gaze on you.

Since he came back, his presence has been a blip in your radar, always there whenever you’re together. Your work days start with him ‘accidentally’ bumping into you after meditating, joining you for breakfast and then going on with his assignments. When he’s free, he _hovers_ at your side, helping with your tasks before you can even ask for assistance and slithering away once he’s done and knows you need your space.

You wonder if you're delusional, building up a fantasy that you yearn to be true. Even if you are, you wouldn't have done anything different. He is your friend and you are content to help him. However you'd be happier if you had _more_.

Once more you sense his eyes flickering to you. It’s cold, yes, but in that moment you feel warm, your neck, cheeks, ears hot with the blush that sprays across your skin.

Ben should be shivering with the chill brought on by the wind and the rain, but in this moment, he only feels warmth; warmth from having you next to him, warmth from his own fond thoughts of you. Dropping his arm from around you, he steps around to stand in front of you, crowding your view of the sky above with his sheer stature.

He can feel it now, his heart hammering away in his chest with such ferocity that he feels as if it could leap straight out from beneath his ribs at any moment. He wonders if this is what it feels like to be nervous.

Bringing his hands up, he gently, tenderly cradles your face between them, palms settling against your cheeks. Dark eyes peer down into your own, searching for something, _anything_ that will tell him that you don’t want him to follow through with the desire that’s played over and over in his mind for _so long_. When he sees no signs of resistance, no signs that you don’t want this, he makes his move.

It’s a slow, tentative move when Ben leans down, his face inching towards your own. He’s so _careful_ , careful to take into consideration your every movement, every hitch of your breath. There’s nothing that he wants more than to know that you want this every bit as much as he does. But then it finally hits him, that moment when your lips meet his, and he _swears_ he can feel a jolt of electricity shooting throughout every nerve ending in his body. It’s bliss, this moment; something he never, ever wants to forget. 

You can almost leap with joy; having him this close to you, his hands holding your face like the most precious gem. His back is an endless sprawl of muscle, ridges equally hard and smooth beneath your fingers as you run your hands over it. You start at his lower back, palms guiding him closer until there was nearly no space between you before moving upwards, fingers splayed, up up up until you reach his neck, tangling your fingertips on his hair.

To know that he wants this, just as you do, fills your heart with happiness in a way that you will never forget. You move your hand to caress his face, thumb smoothing across his cheek. You want to count, to kiss every little beauty mark visible to your eye; from the bigger spots near his nose and eyelids, to the thousand little ones that littered his neck, chest, body.

He's your personal constellation. And you'd savour every bit of it.

The unfortunate need for oxygen forces you to pull back. By this time you're soaked to the bone, shivering and feeling like a cat that fell in the bathtub.

But _him_? He looks… he is perfect, his sweater clings to every expanse of muscle, fabric weighted down by the water, and you swear you can see the outlines of his chest, his abs, the v-line that frames his hips, right in front of you.

The imprint of your lips against his can still be felt even when you pull away to break the kiss, and it takes Ben a moment to open his eyes, wanting nothing more than to revel in that moment for all of eternity. He can feel the slight tremor in your body, and it’s the shivers you’re experiencing now that pull him from his reverie.

“Let’s get you out of the rain,” he says, just loud enough to be heard above another crackle of thunder overhead. Concern laces his voice, the tone conveyed further in the dip of his brows and slight downward pull of his mouth to form the faintest of frowns.

He drops his hands away from your face and reaches to take one of yours in his, his palm and fingers effortlessly engulfing your hand in his hold.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing with the the lovely crimsoncomradeposts!
> 
> Find us on tumblr at [clumsycopy](https://clumsycopy.tumblr.com/) and [direnightshade](https://direnightshade.tumblr.com/).


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